Days Go By
by ghostofzanarkand
Summary: A collection of drabbles focusing Daryl and Carol as they navigate their way through a world gone to hell.
1. Old Country Ways

_Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and any related characters are property of AMC, Robert Kirkman, etc. I am not profiting in any way from this work of fiction._

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><p>Carol felt like a child again. The bee had stung her and her first reaction had been to yell, not a wise decision out in the woods where walkers could be unpredictable.<p>

Daryl lowered his crossbow and gave her a look; Carol knew that look meant to be quiet, what the hell are you yelling about, don't go making us walker bait.

Her eyes filled with tears and she let out a slew of curses.

Carol hated bee stings. She was lucky enough to learn that she was mildly allergic when she was around seven years old and got stung on the cheek, which made her face swell like Quasimodo and caused everyone on the playground to laugh at her before someone eventually figured it was necessary to get help.

"What the hell is wrong with ya?" He looked uncomfortable, probably from her language. She rarely cursed, and discouraged everyone in the prison from doing so as well – there were children present, they didn't need to hear those things.

She wrinkled her nose and used her hand to wipe the tears from her face. "I got stung by a damn bee." To illustrate her point, she held her arm out to him and pointed at the welt that was beginning to form. "It hurts like hell." The tears kept coming, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. It made her feel weak. After all of the things she had been through, a bee sting was making her weep like a four year old with a skinned knee.

"Quit the waterworks, woman. Just a damn sting." He grabbed the offered arm and looked at the small wound. He let go and pulled his wallet of his back pocket. He fished out his useless drivers license and used it to pop the bee's stinger out of her skin. He put the card and wallet back, then dug into his bag and pulled out a pouch of chewing tobacco. "This is the gross part." He took a wad from the pouch and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed on the wad for a bit, then pulled the soggy and sticky mess onto her arm. "Don't move." The rag in his back pocket served as a makeshift bandage, holding the tobacco in place.

Once the pain dissipated, Carol spoke. "Thanks, Daryl."

"Lucky I grabbed this shit on the last run," he commented, shoving the tobacco back into his rucksack. "I'd have to tan ya ass if I had to use the last of my cigarettes." He threw his bag over his shoulder again. Daryl was clearly ready to move.

"Maybe I'll get stung again so you have to," she replied with a smirk.

Daryl turned as red as the rag tied around her arm. "Stop..."


	2. Kindred Spirits

Daryl had always heard people talk about the first time they met their love, how they remembered everything vividly like a light had been suddenly turned on. He overheard Lori talking to the other women one night, giving exact details about the first time she ever laid eyes on Rick; he was wearing a hideous green polo shirt throwing a football back and forth with his friends and his hair was a mess. He walked away before he caught anymore detail – the last thing he wanted to know was about Rick and Lori's teenage whirlwind romance and all of the shit that came with it.

He stomped off to the guard tower and threw Glenn out. He wanted time by himself.

He couldn't remember the exact moment he met Carol. He and Merle had been at the camp at least three days before he had even seen her at the quarry, and only because Merle had been talking about trying to find a piece of tail before they robbed the place blind and took off. Mouse is what Merle had called her, afraid of her own shadow. Obviously put out because of the child that clung to her legs. Of course Merle had been more interested in blondes, and pointed out Andrea and her sister Amy. He then went on to describe all sorts of sordid activities he could involve himself in with the pair of sisters.

Daryl simply blew him off and went about his own business.

There was a moment he did remember, among all of the chaos that was the quarry camp.

She was down by the water with her little girl, laughing over something nonsensical. It was music to his ears. They sounded incredibly happy, too happy given the situation that they were all thrown into with the world gone to shit. They just sat and laughed, and played at the water's edge.

Moments like that were something he rarely experienced with his own mother. Whenever Pa wasn't home they would sit in the living room together and he would regale her with grand tales of preschool, and she would listen with rapt attention. Her eyes would go wide and she'd gasp at the appropriate moment, and she'd smile and laugh with him. In the end she'd always grab him and snuggle him tight to her. He would never forget the smell of stale cigarette smoke and the cheap perfume she wore.

Then he felt like he was intruding on a private moment.

It was all over when her bastard husband came through the bushes, loud enough to attract any walkers within a mile. "Carol Ann! What the hell are you two doing? We ain't on fucking vacation!"

The laughter ceased, and the little girl hid behind her mother.

It was just like sitting in the living room with Mama, when Pa would burst through the door making so much noise Daryl was sure the entire park knew that the eldest Dixon was home from work.

He made himself known then. Carol and her girl both looked at him, the fear apparent on both of their faces. Ed turned and looked at him. "Tha fuck you want, redneck?"

He had opened his mouth to say something, nothing would come out. He knew what was coming. It was his childhood all over again. If he said something, it would only make it worse on the woman and her kid.

Instead of jumping into action and beating the hell out of him like he wanted, Daryl did the cowardly thing and retreated into the trees and stomped back to his camp.

Later that night he found Carol at the communal kitchen area, helping one of the other women prepare a meal for the group. Her swollen face seemed to stand out even more in the dying sun and orange firelight.

Daryl Dixon did not eat dinner that night.

The first time Carol heard Daryl laugh, genuinely, was after they had left the farm. All of the other laughter she'd heard had been forced, or alcohol induced. That was not him. She knew it wasn't, so she never considered those times to be real.

It had been just the two of them wandering through the woods. The days were becoming more and more stressful. They both needed to blow off some steam, so Daryl had decided it was high time to teach her how to properly defend herself. He wasn't going to be there every moment of the day, she was going to have to learn how to become self sufficient.

Their training session had lasted all of twenty minutes before Carol stormed off in frustration because she couldn't make heads nor tails of his crossbow. Her aim was terrible, she wasn't understanding all of the little logistics he threw at her, and she wasn't able to even load it because the tension was set so high.

She finally told him he could take his bolts and shove them up his ass and took off on him.

She hadn't made it very far when she heard his laughter. She stopped in her tracks. It wasn't just any laughter, but full gut busting laughs that left Daryl breathless with tears running down his face.

Seeing his face as red as a tomato laughing at her just made her even more frustrated. She let all of her frustrations out on him, yelling and ranting about everything that had happened since the quarry, and instead of getting angry he just laughed harder, to the point that he slid to the ground and held his gut like he was going to vomit.

Carol finally gave up and sat next to him, let him get the laughter out of his system.

"Are you done, Dixon?"

Daryl looked at her. His eyes sparkled like she had never seen before, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. It was a good look on the normally sullen man.

"You may wanna wrap that up before we get back to camp. They may think you have the fever and put you down."

He dissolved in laughter again.

"I'm beginning to think you got into Merle's stash."

It was contagious.

Before she knew it, she was laughing with him, clutching at her sides and tears running down her face. It felt good to just be, to not have to worry about anything else, to laugh when there wasn't much left in the world to laugh at.

By the time they both settled down, Carol was surprised they hadn't attracted a herd with their giggles and huffs. He stood first, then held his hand out to help her up.

She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't let go until they arrived back at their camp.

Daryl eventually made his way back from the tower and into the prison. Glenn had come back up there and all but thrown him out while he matter-of-factly informed him that he wanted to get laid and to use the shower for personal reflection time.

The ladies' chattering hadn't changed much, still on the subject of men. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Carol's quiet voice instead of any of the other women. She wasn't the type to kiss and tell. She was a very private person by nature and he considered himself lucky to have been given peeks into her life before everything had changed.

"Come on, Carol," he heard Maggie goading. "You've got to have some sort of stories to tell."

Carol chuckled. "You don't want to hear stories about me and Ed. It was far from a romance novel. More like a horror story, to be honest."

"Daryl, silly!" Beth spoke up. "Tell us about when you knew that he was the one."

Daryl flattened himself against the wall, hoping that he hadn't been noticed. He knew he shouldn't be listening. It wasn't right. He just couldn't help himself. He wanted to hear what Carol had to say. No one in the prison was privy to any details of the relationship they shared once the cell privacy blankets had been dropped.

"There's not much to tell," Carol replied. "We have a mutal respect for each other. I care very deeply for him."

He nodded. That was the perfect Carol answer.

Lori laughed loudly. "Don't think I haven't seen you two sneak out to that bus at night. Kinda romantic, under the stars."

The rest of the women laughed while Carol sat, her eyes unfocused and her brows scrunched. Daryl knew that to be her thinking look.

"It was at the camp," she finally said. "Back at the quarry."

"That long ago?" Lori asked.

Carol nodded. "I saw him and knew there was something about him that called to me, like a kindred spirit."

All at once, they all badgered her for details, but Carol was having none of it. "You asked when I knew, and that is what I told you. Now if you ladies want dinner some time tonight, I need to start cooking."

From his corner, Daryl watched her get up from the seat and walk away.

Later that night, after he was sure that everyone was asleep, he went to her cell and dropped the privacy blanket. Her lantern burned low, and the book she had been reading fell neglected to the floor next to her bunk. He picked up the book and blew out her lantern. It took everything inside of him to not climb into bed with her. Instead he planted a light kiss onto her forehead and headed out to his perch.


	3. Dear Sophia

The prison was a mess. A fucking mess.

Daryl's frown grew as he, Rick, and Michonne worked their way through the rubble to the cell block to retrieve what important belongings the group couldn't live without. He couldn't leave Maggie with that look on her face, with the realization that she had nothing left of her sister or father. He only hoped that Hershel's bible my have survived the destruction. It would be a comfort for all of them. While he had never been much of a believer, he would always fondly remember when the older man would always have the perfect verse for the right situation, words that would always help in one way or another.

Cell by cell they worked, moving rubble and debris as they went.

Finally he found Carol's cell. It was damaged, more so than the others. While she hadn't asked for anything like everyone else, he needed to bring something. Anything.

He moved what was left of the twisted bunk to reveal the small shelf she kept her books on. Very few of the silly paperback romances had survived. He could always find her more books. He grabbed one of the books that was still holding up and put it into his bag.

Now unstable, the rest of the books fell like dominoes. He cursed, knowing she'd be pissed that her books were in disarray, then shook his head for thinking of something so trivial as her fondness for neatness when her entire former cell was left in shambles.

Regardless, he bent down to pick up a few of the charred books that had fallen. Something pink and hideous caught his eye as he bent down. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached for it.

A little girl's diary. An ugly, neon pink little girl's diary, complete with little metal lock that could be broken with just one good tug.

Even though he knew it was wrong, he tugged lightly on the little cheap lock and popped it open.

Her flowing writing filled the pink pages. All letters to Sophia.

Dear Sophia.

Dear Sophia.

Dear Sophia.

Daryl felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He backed up until he reached the wall and slid down to sit. What he was doing was _wrong_. He shouldn't have been reading those letters, addressed to the little girl that he had searched for, the little girl that he lost nights of sleep over, the one that he wanted to bring back to her mother so bad that it almost killed him when he saw her reanimated form stumble from that barn.

But he just _couldn't_ stop. His eyes scanned each of the entries, all starting with Dear Sophia.

Some letters were mundane, telling her of the happenings of the day, such as Rick and his peas or Judith trying to say her first words.

Other letters he felt guilty reading. Carol had poured her hopes and dreams for her daughter's life in those pages, milestones that she would never reach and events that would never happen in their changed new world.

He felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest as he read on.

Finally, he reached the last of the entries, dated just days before outbreak was at it's worst. He couldn't read any more.

He flipped through the last entries to an empty page. He shuffled through the debris, looking for the little pencil bag she kept with markers and pens. After a few minutes of searching he found it and removed a pen from the pouch.

Daryl took a deep breath and put pen to paper.

_Dear Sophia._


End file.
